"What are you standing there for? Keep going!"

Hawk's bark snapped Roland out of it. He firmed his grip on the hammer and struck again.

The theory had taken shape in his head, but knowing what to do and making his body do it were different problems. His next few blows landed clumsy and uneven.

Never mind Hawk—even Marco's rough showing was several levels above this.

The watching youths snickered.

"Ha! With skills like that, he still dared step up?"

"Knew he couldn't do it. Look at those arms—thin as branches. He'll be spent after a few swings."

Hawk stood by with folded arms. He said nothing, but the steady drum of his fingers said enough.

Roland tuned out the muttering, emptied his mind, and kept swinging with his eyes fixed on the ingot.

[You have successfully completed a forging action. Experience +1]

[You have successfully completed a forging action...]

[You have successfully completed...]

Every notification deepened his grasp of Forging by another fraction.

The hammer stopped feeling like a tool and started feeling like part of his arm, answering his intent more readily with each strike.

His blows steadied. His placement sharpened. The force behind the hammer no longer bled away through wrist and shoulder.

Hawk's knitted brows eased, and surprise crept onto that stern face.

The laughter around them died.

"His technique... that's about level with Marco's, isn't it?"

"Is his father some famous blacksmith too?"

The final blow fell. Roland studied the dagger taking rough shape on the anvil, quietly pleased.

The surface was still coarse, but there wasn't a single crack.

Far from fine work—but with some polishing, it would serve.

He caught his breath, ignored the stares, and turned to the old blacksmith.

"Mr. Hawk, what do you think?"

"Hmm..."

Hawk stepped in, picked up the dagger blank, and examined it from every angle.

At length he looked up.

"Roland... was it? What did you do before coming here?"

"Same as my father. We raised and trained horses for the baron."

Roland dredged the answer from the original owner's memories and scratched his head.

"Raised horses? Ever handled forging tools before?"

"No, Mr. Hawk."

The clear-eyed youth didn't waver, and the corners of Hawk's mouth twitched upward.

Then the old blacksmith turned, hoisted the dagger blank overhead, and rounded on the crowd.

"All of you, open your eyes and look! This is what forged work should look like!"

"Half your families run smithies, and your craft is worse than a horse boy's!"

"Each of you takes one metal ingot and practices against Roland's blank! Anyone below standard goes hungry tonight and reflects in front of the furnace!"

A chorus of wails went up.

Hawk ignored it and clapped Roland hard on the shoulder.

"From now on, you assist me. No more practicing the other drills. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Joy welled up in Roland's chest.

Assisting Hawk meant more time at the anvil. Better still, it meant he'd won the favor of the only dedicated blacksmith in the territory.

Blackwater Territory was not rich. Supporting a single knight already strained Baron Forsling's purse. For Hawk to value him like this put Roland half a foot over the threshold of official apprenticeship.

"Thank you, Mr. Hawk!"

"Mm. Work hard. Don't slack."

Hawk added a few more words of encouragement, waved him off, and strode away.

Roland watched him go, still turning over the odd sensation he'd felt while forging.

"The Blacksmith Apprentice trait is stronger than I thought."

"It didn't just unlock knowledge I couldn't grasp before—it doubled how fast I pick up smithing skills."

"If a base occupation improves me this much, what would others do?"

"If I keep stacking occupations—attributes, skills, traits, all of it..."

A thick arm hooked around his neck.

"Well done, Roland! I knew you had it in you!"

"Sean?"

Roland took in his friend's flushed excitement and sighed.

"You're more worked up than I am."

"Buddy, how could I not be? Mr. Hawk used your blank as the standard! That stubborn old man has never praised anyone like that!"

"I know. But shouldn't you be worrying about whether you eat tonight?"

"Heh. Fair point..."

Sean's guileless look made Roland roll his eyes. He dragged him back to the anvil and walked him through the key points while they talked.

Bit by bit, Roland's taut nerves let go, and exhaustion rolled in behind them.

His arms ached to numbness. He flexed his fingers and exhaled.

"One crude dagger blank nearly emptied the tank. Two points of Strength is nowhere near enough."

"If I want attributes fast, changing occupations is the only road. But going by Blacksmith Apprentice, I need the matching skills first before I can..."

Sean checked their surroundings. Once he was sure no one was close, he dropped his voice.

"Roland, be careful the next few days."

"Marco didn't look happy just now."

"Remember Landers? Real talent for forging—better than Marco, even. Then he met Marco in private, left the estate for some reason nobody ever explained, and vanished."

Roland glanced up.

Sure enough, Marco stood a short distance off, watching him and muttering to his hangers-on. Judging by his sour look, it wasn't praise.

"Don't worry too much, though," Sean added quickly. "This is the baron's estate. However arrogant Marco is, he wouldn't dare start trouble here. And besides..."

He crooked his arm and flexed.

"If anything happens, I'll protect you!"

"Then I'm counting on you, Sean."

Roland smiled, but he kept his guard up.

If not for him, the apprentice spot three months from now would almost certainly have gone to Marco.

Blocking a man's road to wealth was as good as killing his parents.

And this road led to a post as a noble's dedicated blacksmith.

"Better to be careful. And Marco isn't the only problem..."

Roland reviewed everything he'd learned recently and frowned.

"This world has rampaging monsters and people with transcendent power—knights. Danger everywhere."

"I need combat skills, and a combat occupation, as soon as possible. Higher attributes, and some way to protect myself if things go wrong. But..."

He had to face reality.

No money, no status, and no obvious way to learn how to fight.

"Right."

A thought struck him, and he turned to Sean, who was fumbling through his forging practice beside him.